


Run This Town

by Yeara



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Liam Payne, Dark Niall, Irish Mafia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow To Update, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6812482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeara/pseuds/Yeara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mafia isn’t something that only exists in Italy. Something Zayn Malik has to learn the hard way, when he suddenly finds himself as a toy of the biggest Mafia boss’ in Ireland. Now there is only one thing he can do: stay alive and hope for a chance to escape. Perhaps Louis helps him, a toy of British mobster Liam Payne, who has a close business relationship with Zayn’s owner, Niall Horan? But Zayn should be careful, because in the underground there is never peace and someone who seems to be your friend can turn out to be your worst enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first English FanFic.  
> I don't have a beta, but if someone is interested I would be more than happy!  
> Please notice that English isn't my first language! (German is)  
> This story already exists in German, just a bit different, but is also written by me.  
> There also exists some kind of Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYLKdigtkxo
> 
> So yeah... hope you like it, if I think about more trigger-warnings or you notice something, please message me!
> 
> Love,  
> Ray

Niall Horan was bored out of his mind as he sat in his chair, one leg on the floor, the other thrown over the armrest. His arm hung over the back rest, his head laid back and his crystal blue eyes were closed.  
"I'm bored," he growled lazily, earning an amused laugh from the other man in the room.  
He seemed to be a little older with fascinating green eyes and dark curls. He was staring at the smaller on for a few minutes now, trying to figure out what it was.  
Why... why everyone, including himself, would die for this fragile person in front of him without hesitation. A question he got a headache from every time.  
The blond boy looked like 16, not older as 18.  
Never would anyone suspect him.  
But he was older. He was much older than someone could guess.

"Styles do something."  
Niall opened his eyes and turned his yet very aristocratic-looking face in Harry Styles direction, and Harry had the chance to see in bright blue eyes. A blue which hunted him in his nightmares and sent a shiver down his spine for centuries now.  
"What do you think I could do?" He asked with a velvety, calm voice. He never managed to sound as cold as Niall. No one managed to sound as cold as him.  
"Bring me a new toy."  
Again a laugh escaped the lips of the other one. "You have by far the highest rate on dead toys," he reminded the smaller one. Thinking about the toy he brought him just last week.  
He was cute. But he lasted what? Eight hours?

The blond boy stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "Bring me one that doesn’t bore me immediately!" Cold blue eyes boring into the green of the younger ones.  
There was this edge in his voice, which let Harrys skin crawl and was the reason why he nodded slowly.  
"Well ... I'll see what I can do," Harry sighed, and got a satisfied nod as an answer.  
The top boss of the Irish Mafia clans had already turned back to the window and so clearly signaled that he was waiting; waiting for the Styles to go to the dungeons right now to pick a toy from the prisoners, so that Niall had a new Hobby. A Hobby which would be dead in a few days anyway, just like its predecessors.

Harry sighed as he made his way down to the dungeons. Someone may say it was stupid to keep the prisoners in their headquarter. But nobody would ever get even the chance to escape. And whoever was a real threat, wouldn’t live long enough down there to even start imaging how the sunlight looked like.  
The dungeons, or better, the catacombs of Ireland, where the safest prison in Europe. 

The second Harry opened the last door, loud cries, pleading, whimpering, sobbing resounded. Harry wasn’t a big fan of the dungeons, they gave him a mean headache every time he had to get down here, what was way too often for his liking. Sometimes Harry hated it to be good enough to work as Nialls first consultant. But then he remembered his salary and the power. So damn much power… 

Rolling his eyes Harry walked down the aisle between the cells, without stopping even once. Suddenly every voice was falling silent as he passed. Everyone knew him, knew what it meant to be taken by him. Not only death, but torture. Torture which made you begging for death.  
And if it wasn’t for that?  
Then Niall was looking for a new toy and really nobody wanted to be said toy.  
Once Harry stepped into the death row, he slowed down his pace. He was looking for someone who didn’t betrayed them – Niall never wanted a traitor – but someone who would die anyway.  
Niall wanted someone young, but off age. They should be beautiful, something special. No one broken. They should at least look like fighters. Someone who could represent the power of the Irish empire. 

In the corner of his eyes he caught the glimpse of black eyes. No, not black. But a really dark brown. So dark that it looked like as if they would just swallow the light. It was fascinating.  
Harry took a step forth. He was stunning. Dark hair, olive skin and those dark eyes, which starred directly in his own green ones full of hate and will to fight.  
He looked like twenty-five or something and the small sign on the cell door gave him a name. Zayn. No sure-name, no age. He killed eight men, trying to get out of his debts. Harry raised one eyebrow… no… not his debts. Looked like he found a bodyguard… 

The small smile which played around his lips could only be described as pure evil. Niall would have fun with this one… of that he was sure…


	2. Sounds of Silence

There was laughter, warmth and just for a second, red eyes which bleed into blue. It was a soft feeling of peace, of luck. It felt like the first rays of sun on your skin after a long rain. The first flowers of the spring, starting to bloom. The first laugh of a child. Like… Zayn couldn’t find enough words to describe the feeling, but before he could even start to try, there was a scream.   
One that let your blood run cold and would hunt you in your dreams.

Zayn knew that he was awake. But he didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted to savor this feeling for one more moment. Hold it close, let his heart remember why it needed to beat, why all this was worth it.   
But there was another scream. Filled with fear and pain and despair and finally Zayn opened his eyes. He starred up into the darkness, which surrounded him.   
He felt the cold stone underneath him, how his back gave a protesting sound as he slowly moved. Swinging his legs over the edge of his so called bed, standing up and moving the few steps to the cell door automatically, where he dropped again to his knees.   
Like every other night, or day. Who could tell down here? It was always just darkness with a few candles from time to time. 

“Calum?”

His voice sounded raw as he stretched his hands through the bars, trying to reach the cell on the other side. Without success, like every time. But he still tried, every night.   
“Calum you need to wake up! You hear me buddy?”  
Zayn let his back and his head hit the wall, as he set back. There was no answer. There rarely ever was.   
There were just his screams, his soft sobs, his whimpers which ripped Zayns heart out and apart every time he had to hear them. 

Zayn long had lost track of how long he was down here. Maybe it had been just days, or already weeks, months or even years. He couldn’t tell.   
At least he wasn’t alone.   
There would always be Simon in the cell next to him, even when Zayn wasn’t really fond of him. Allegedly he was here because he manipulated a few people in trying to kill the mobster boss’ right hand.   
The first few days it was interesting to listen to him, but by now the torture had left him mad. He was talking to himself, the rats or the shadows. He tried to pick his own eyes out three days ago and was chained to the wall ever since.  
Then there was Kelem. He raped his sister’s son until he made the mistake of leaving a mark in sight. The problem? Allegedly Dimitry, his nephew, was the mobster boss’ favorite assassin. So he ended up down here, talking about red eyes and fire, until Dimitry got him and never brought him back. Whispers said he wasn’t more than ashes. But the same whispers kept on talking about the red eyes, the fire, voices which could bring you on the edge of sanity.   
Most of the people down here were just down right crazy, totally out of their minds, but then there was Calum.

Sweet, young Calum. 

The small boy screaming and crying across from Zayn. He wasn’t sure how old he exactly was, something about 16, not older than 18. He looked young. Zayn knew that he didn’t come from the Irish Clan. He was from a clan which got extinct. Slaughtered by the Irish. He lost everything. His family, his friends, his clan and even worse his mate. Zayn wasn’t a one hundred percent sure what a mate exactly was, but he quickly learned that it wasn’t someone you just lose, grieve a bit and move on. 

Calum was screaming his mates name, Ashton, every single night. Crying for him, pleading him to come back in a voice no one could stand. Zayn had even witnessed once that the mobster boss’ right hand turned around and left, the second Calums screams started. He even imaged to see something like guilt in the mobster’s eyes. As if someone like him could feel guilt.   
Again it was Calums voice which brought him back. He wasn’t screaming anymore. It was worse. Way worse. His voice was now soft and so, so broken. He nearly whispered Ashtons name again and again. 

“Ash… Ash please, please come back. Do… Don’t you dare do this to me! Don’t you dare die on me! You… you ca… you can’t leave me here. You can’t leave me alone… I can’t do this without you, please, please, please come back. Ashton…”

Zayn buried his teeth in his lip to stop it from trembling. He felt like crying, even if he never knew that Ashton. But Calums voice sounded so desperate, so broken and lost.  
And he couldn’t do anything. He just sat here. In the darkness, on the cold ground. Alone. And he felt like something was missing. Listening to Calum made him think of his dream. Those fascinating blue eyes, that warm feeling, which was ripped apart and torn to pieces. There was a lump forming in his throat and he had to swallow multiple times to stop himself from choking on it, to stop himself from crying.   
His ribcage felt too tight and he closed his eyes, concentrated on his breathing. He couldn’t handle another panic attack. One of his ribs must be still broken and… he just couldn’t handle it… 

“Calum please… wake up… please… please… please…” 

He needed his crying to stop, he needed him to calm down, he… there was a noise.  
Zayn sat up straight in one fast movement, ignoring the pain. Okay, Calum seriously needed to wake up. Now! There was someone. A guard or whatever, someone who was looking for some fun maybe and that… that was never good. Zayn never seen someone picking Calum, but maybe they just never saw him? Because he always hides in the shadows?   
After all, he was cute and sweet and beautiful and someday someone was going to take him and Zayn couldn’t let this happen.   
Against his instinct to go and hide, he stood up and started whispering Calums name, again and again and again. He just needed him to be quiet, or better, to wake up and fucking hide!

“Come on buddy. Please!”

Zayn’s blood run cold as he realized who was coming their way. Of course, the big bad needed a new toy, what else. That was just Zayns luck.   
His heart was frantically beating against his bruised rips and his fingers clutched the bars like his life depended on them.   
There was nothing he could throw at Calum to wake him up, there was nothing he could do but hold his breath and pray.   
One more word and big bad’s right hand might notice them. 

But the second he was in earshot Calums cries stopped. And that was, where Zayn mad his second mistake this evening. He dared to close his eyes for a second, let his head fall against the bars and breath. That was the moment he noticed him.   
Green eyes bored into dark brown ones and Zayns heart stopped beating.   
That couldn’t be happening…   
No, no, no, no, no!  
That was bad. That was really, really bad. But he got no chance to say something, to even react in any way.

There was just a flaming pain in his head and the world around him went black. The last thing he saw, where the mobster’s green eyes and his smile, that reminded Zayn of the horrorstorys he used to read as a child.


	3. Something Wicked

The next time Zayn regained consciousness, he felt like someone tried to crack his head open on a brick wall. With a soft groan he tried to open his eyes, just to close them again a second later.   
Holy Christ the light was too bright for his poor eyes. The pounding in his head got even worse and he felt like throwing up, before he paused.  
Light…   
Why was there light? There shouldn’t be any light?!  
Zayn opened his eyes slowly this time. The light was still too bright, but this time he was prepared.

He was slowly sitting up, just now registering the soft bed he lied on. Maybe he pissed of one of the guards again and they finally snapped his neck. Maybe he was in heaven.  
But would he still feel pain in heaven? And why was there a voice? It sounded like the person connected to the voice was a few floors away, but suddenly there was someone in front of him. A small girl.   
And maybe he really died. Because Zayns vision was still a bit blurry, but he registered dark eyes and a sweet smile and wings. Beautiful, white wings, like the wings of an angle. Or he was hallucinating…  
Soft hands where pushing him back down in the pillows and slowly the voice got clearer. 

“I need you to lay down and don’t move. They got you really bad. There are several broken bones and older injuries no one healed. Don’t worry, you’re going to look good before he sees you for the first time. I’m Jade. What’s your name honey?”

Zayn needed a few seconds before he really processed the words. He starred at the white ceiling, trying to form words, but his tongue was too heavy in his mouth and his eyes threatened to fall shut again.   
He felt so tiered and for the first time in forever he lay on a soft bed and it was dry and warm. But he wanted to answer the girls question and ask about the wings, if he was dead or just hit his head really bad.   
“Z… Za… Zayn…” his voice sounded strange in his own ears, but he didn’t get a chance to really care, before he got unconscious again. 

“Oh Zayn…” Jades voice was soft and her fingertips brushed over his cheek. “Poor thing… too pretty for your own good. But don’t worry. It’s not going to take long. You did so good. So brave. Your fight will soon be over and then you never have to worry again. I promise you.”

Her heart broke for every poor soul which got to be Nialls new toy. She all met them here. In the hospital wing. It was always her to heal their broken bones and cuts and wounds.   
But she hadn’t had someone this broken for a long time. Zayns body clearly showed that he was a fighter.   
The young women carefully dipped a soft white towel into warm water, before she started cleaning Zayns body. His wounds. His cuts.

After just a few seconds the towel wasn’t white anymore. A soft sigh escaped her lips. “What is your story pretty boy. What did they do to you? Who are you?”  
Carefully she cleaned the cut on Zayns face, the blood from his temple. Why did Harry knock them him out that way?   
Probably because he hated finding new toys. And her. Harry didn’t trust her. Never has, never going to be. Jade knew that. Right from day One. He always had looked at her with some kind of mistrust. He always mocked her soft voice, her smile, everything on her. She knew, if he had the chance, he would’ve tried to set her wings on fire. He never liked so called angels. Maybe because he was allergic to anything religion related, or just because he was an asshole. Jade wasn’t sure.  
She never got it. Especially because her race had nothing to do with god. They got their name from humans, mortals, because they looked a little bit like those mystical creatures. But that was it.

Jade let her eyes wander over the broken body in front of her. A soft sigh escaped her lips. That was a lot of work. He needed to look perfect for Niall. No blood, no dirt. Scars where okay. He liked it, when they looked like fighters. This one, Zayn, wasn’t a simple case, but Jade had worse.   
Way worse.

Carefully she grabbed a knife to tear away the sad remains of a shirt, that barley covered Zayns chest.   
Underneath where a few older cuts and horrible bruises. It looked like someone tried to smash his ribcage in, but didn’t really succeeded. Only one rib looked weakened, slightly broken, the rest were just bruises.   
Jade could heal the rib, it would still hurt like hell, but at least Zayn could move, withdrawing the danger of breaking it completely. But the bruises… Niall would have to deal with that.   
There would be new ones in a day anyway. If he lasted even that long. 

The last one, Jade didn’t really catch his name, has been a cute little thing. Without a bruise, not that much scars. Porcelain like skin, dark green eyes and soft brown hair.   
He has been dead after eight hours. His fragile body broken. Dark bruises had been blossoming over his broken rips and his small wrists. There had been blood everywhere.   
Jade had felt like throwing up. Even after all this time. It wasn’t her first dead toy. God no.   
She had one what felt like once a week.  
But this one had been so innocent! Even more than his predecessors. 

His story was a simple one. He had been a thief. He had just pickpocketed the wrong people, that was how he ended in a cell down here. He had been there for only a week before Harry got him. Mostly because he was pretty, not more.

Jades gaze fell on Zayn and her fingertips brushed his dark hair out of his face.   
She wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt like this one was different.   
He looked more like a fighter, than everyone before him did. More than ever Jade wanted to know the story behind this scars and tattoos.   
Sometimes she got the chance to talk to them. To listen. She probably was the only one, who was interested.   
Maybe this one lasted long enough to tell her his story. 

She wanted to know why there was a name, written in a long dead language over his heart. Why some tattoos seemed to cover up runes. She wanted to know the meaning behind those old figures and symbols.   
Especially because she couldn’t find any other evidence for a spark in him. For magic.   
He was like any other mortal, beside his tattoos.   
Weird… 

A loud bang startled Jade out of her thoughts.

“How is he?”

A voice that let her blood run cold and she didn’t even had to look up, to know who it was.  
The shiver that let her wings flutter nervously was enough. Should she tell him about the tattoos? Maybe Zayn was a threat?  
But… it would get him killed even faster…   
“Sire.” She turned around and bowed her head.   
“He isn’t exactly well. Harry knocked him out pretty bad. He should be good tomorrow can you…”  
He should have this one chance to live! 

Her voice gave out for a second. How to tell a mobster boss he couldn’t have what he wanted lection number one.   
Jades wings spread a little bit, so Niall couldn’t see Zayn. She tried to protected him from what was to come, without question.   
“I don’t care. I want him. Now!” Nialls voice was as cold as ice and the small girl closed her eyes for a second. Okay, that was not good.   
That was bad. She looked over her shoulder, Zayn was still unconscious.  
“I…” Jade didn’t even got a chance to say more.

There was red and the cracking of fire and her voice died. The color of her face match her wings in this second perfectly.   
“In an hour. He’s in his room in an hour.”  
“Good!”

The door closed and Jade knew in her bones that this one wouldn’t last as long as she may hoped.


	4. Perhaps “fuck off” might be too kind

This time Zayn opened his eyes more careful, but the light wasn’t as bright as the last time. He still had a headache like he had had a drinking contest with Perrie last night. He wished he had…  
But that wasn’t the case. He still was just a prisoner, the toy of a mobster. He probably wouldn’t ever see his friends again. 

A small sigh escaped Zayns lips and he finally tried to sit up. He remembered Jade. She wanted to help him, in some way. The wings he saw sure just were an illusion. He hit his head definitely too hard.  
But the second Zayn sat up, he realized a few things.

His ribs still ached, but they didn’t felt broken anymore.   
He wasn’t in the same room like before. The white was missing, and – way more importuned – Jade wasn’t in sight.  
They left him unattended?   
Carefully Zayn swung his legs over the edge of the bed, just to be greeted by a really soft carpet under his naked feet.   
It felt so good compared to the hard and cold floor in his cell, that he had to take a moment to just savoir that feeling. 

He looked down and registered something else. His clothing… somebody must have changed it. Someone had touched him while he was unconscious. Washed and dressed him. Zayns stomach clenched at that thought and if he had something to throw up, he would probably throw up.   
His shaking fingers slowly combed through his soft black hair, what smelled like vanilla.   
He needed to get out of here before Jade came back. Or someone else. 

Zayn finally took the room in, he was in. There wasn’t much to see. Two doors, one was a simple bathroom without Mirror but with a shower and the second door was locked.  
In the room itself were just a bed and one closet with a few black sweaters, shirts and pants and underwear. Nothing Zayn could use as weapon. But he grabbed one of the shirts and put it on. Whoever dressed him, seemingly forgot about this part.  
At last he made his way to the dark red curtains, which covered one whole side of the room. Nearly everything in this room was from a dark red color. The pillows, the blanket, the carpet, the curtains.   
Zayn really hoped it was just because the mobster boss liked this color…

Carefully he pulled the curtains back, ready to jump back and protect himself if something would be hiding behind them.   
But there were just windows. Big windows. The ones, that covered the whole wall from the floor to the ceiling. It was the view, that let Zayns breath stop for a second.   
He was at a cliff. A few stories high directly over the sea. Now he knew why nobody looked after him. He had no chance to escape. Even if he broke the window, he would die on the sharp stones under him.  
He couldn’t scream loud enough for someone to hear. There was nobody, no house, nothing even in sight. 

But he had a vague idea where he was. He had been here before. Not in this room. Not in this... this castle. He knew it was a castle. Because he had seen it. He had been standing just a few feet away from it.  
They thought it would be just a ruin. That it had been a false tip. It had looked like a ruin! How? How could...   
It was just a few miles away from Dublin. How could someone hide a whole mafia clan just a few miles away from the capitol? That should be impossible.   
But here he was.   
He took a deep breath and lifted his shaking hands to the window glass, but seconds before it touched the cold surface, he felt someone starring at him. 

Zayn turned around prepared for everything, but for what was standing in front of him. It was... it looked like... A boy... There was no other way to describe it. He couldn‘t be much older than eighteen. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin. A boy from a beauty Zayn couldn‘t find words for.  
„Who are you?“ his voice sounded steady, firm. More than he felt like.  
The boy smiled. A smile that let cold shivers run down Zayns spine.  
„I‘m your new master.“

Zayn laughed. It was a throaty laugh, it sounded a little bit crazy. But he couldn‘t be for real?  
This boy?  
Yeah, no.   
No way. He had to be kidding. This should be the big bad mobster boss? This child? He was the one everybody was losing their head about? He was responsible for all the nightmares Zayn had night for night?  
No way.

But the kid stepped closer and Zayns laughter died. There was something in his eyes. In these icy blue eyes, that made his heart stop for a second. It looked like as if there was a spark of red in the blue.   
And suddenly Zayn remembered every single whisper about red eyes. He had to imagine things again. Maybe his time down there had left a bigger crack in his sanity than he thought at first.

„I don‘t care who do you think you are, but stay back or I swear you‘re going to regret it. I‘m not kidding.“   
There was a burning in his chest, that he couldn‘t quiet pin. A tingle in his fingers and the boy stepped back. It was just a small step. Even he looked surprised for a second.   
But just for one tiny moment. The next second his gaze hardened again and it was very clear to Zayn, that he wasn’t so happy. Like… not even a little bit. Maybe he should just play along. Pretend he was his small little toy and try to find a way to escape.  
But Zayn was afraid, deeply afraid. The panic already sat deep in his bones and he just wanted to live. To go home to his friends and his cat. He wanted to cuddle up under his warm blankets and watch a movie, forget about everything that had happened to him.   
He wanted to forget about Calum, about those rumors, about this whole mafia-thing. He wished he never said yes.  
But now he was here. In front of Irelands nightmare and he had no way to go, no way to flee. 

“Down.”   
The mobster boss’ voice sounded even colder than before. Zayn wished he just could laugh in his face and flip him off. But he wasn’t that brave. He saw a chance to escape, for the first time in forever and he wouldn’t waste it.   
He just needed to get out of here. Than he could inform his team and destroy the Irish Mafia. One and for all.   
He could free Calum! He could save him!  
But kneel? It got against all his instincts. But if he wanted to live…

Slowly and with the coldest stare he could muster, he kneeled. His knees hit the soft carpet and automatically he bowed his head. He wasn’t sure why, it was like he didn’t have any control over it.   
He did not wanted to do this!

“Good boy.” There was a hand in his hair and Zayn wanted to throw up. What was he? A fucking dog? Hell no! He already kneeled before him, he shouldn’t have pushed it!

“Fuck off!”

The words where over his lips before he could think better of it. He looked up to the clearly younger man full of hate and disgust.   
The mobster had his lips pressed into a thin line and Zayn couldn’t react fast enough. There was a flaming pain in his right cheek and black dots before his eyes.   
The sound that left his lips was horrible painful and vulnerable. 

“You should watch your language, pet. You ware worth nothing to me and if you want to live, you should be a good boy and watch your manners.”

The man on the floor wanted to answer. Wanted to tell him he could stick his good manners up where the light never shines. But his vision was still blurry from the burning pain in his right cheek and he tasted blood. 

The master yanked his head back and looked directly in to dark brown eyes. “Did you understand me?”  
Zayn could have sworn there was a spark of red in this icy blue, but there were still black dots in his vision.  
“Yes… Sir…” his voice sounded pressed and still as hateful as before, but the mobster let him go.

“Good boy.”


End file.
